Human Error - Phone Unknown

SpoilerShow

So I had this overwhelming urge to write that couldn't be quenched, so I decided to start this using an idea I wanted to flesh out. Wayward is going to take priority still, but I haven't been able to write much in a while and I think I really need it so here we go

Unknown Human

Earth


The time is 3:59am on Monday the 14th of August-- or so states the internal clock embedded in your mind's eye. The clock They embedded so you would not forget the date. So you would never forget the date. Ever.

That is to say, this is the time on Earth and you don't have any way of knowing if the message relayed to you was referring to this date and time specifically, or whatever their own method of time measurement is. Granted, it's unlikely extraterrestrial beings who live outside the boundaries of Earth use 'August' as a name for this exact month but you just never know. The clock in your mind does match today's date so it can't be incorrect. You're just a bit surprised they'd be so insistent on this and then leave you hanging.

It's not like you could have misplaced the time or anything. Unless you misplaced your brain somehow and you seriously hope this is not the case. You've grown rather fond of your brain and would hate for it to go missing.

You pat your head to be sure. Your skull is sealed, no incision, no sign of tampering and no missing hair. You're fine.

So They must be late.

You're standing in the middle of a corn field, wearing a midnight-blue business suit that you don't remember putting on. In the distance you can hear the yelping bark-howls of coyotes and some bizarre chittering noises you imagine belong to supernatural beings you have No Time to deal with at the moment. But the one thing you hear above all else are the stars.

The stars are so loud tonight. You can hear them buzzing above you. They do that. Buzzing. They know you hate it when they do and like to be pricks about it. But they also know you still think they're beautiful.

So they use that to their advantage.

Again. Pricks.

It sounds like bees. Like thousands and thousands and thousands of bees buzzing far above you in swarms, flickering a little but remaining in place. They can't catch and sting you, but they can't be muffled either.

You twiddle your thumbs idly. The air smells like sawdust and rain. They're not coming. You're out here in the middle of nowhere and They're not coming. Your eyes hurt from countless sleepless nights, and from crying. You were crying earlier. It was a whole thing. It's over now. You're never going to think about it again.

...Except for just then. But you don't remember clearly why you were crying anyway so it doesn't even matter.

You really wish more people would believe you... (maybe you were crying about that, who knows). More people opposed to, well, none. But it's not like you've had much time to adjust. They were theories one day and then, quite suddenly, not. Not at all. If you were obsessed before you're not sure you have a word for it now. The more you think about it the more cliche it all feels. The crackpot theorist no one believes is actually right? Hoo boy who'd a' thunk it?

And the thought of being a walking cliche pisses you off even more. But forgetting that, forgetting where you came from--which you've already done-- where the hell are They? The message you found tattooed on your left forearm was very clear about this. You were to arrive here, exactly here, on this exact date, and you were to await their arrival--which would come shortly. They even wrote 'LOOK AT YOUR LEFT FOREARM' across your forehead in black ink to be sure. You are, incidentally, glad they didn't tattoo that bit.

How did you even get here... Your feet hurt. You look down only to realize you're not wearing shoes. Did you walk? They look red and cut up but don't hurt. Not even a little. You don't feel surprised for some reason but you still can't recall why this is.

Everything's just a bit fuzzy... feels like static dancing behind your eyes and eardrums. God you wish those stars would shut up.

And why the hell are you wearing this suit? You never wear suits. Er. You... you think you don't, at least. Why are you so uncertain of that? Why does the thought of remembering suddenly scare you so much?

But more importantly... what's your name?

Your... gender?

Do you have any pets? Did they come with you?

And what does the note in your pocket say?

Yikes. You really don't know anything... Come to think of it, you're not even sure you know what you look like either.

NEXT

first off the bat, your only pet (which you took with you) is an entire hive of bees, hence the noise. the note in your pocket says "look at your forehead", it's from earlier. you look like you're wearing a suit

everyone you know calls you "mac" which is just the first syllable of your last name. it's a pretty masculine name considering but it's hard for people to get confused once they've met you. you've got a pet cat and fuck no it didn't come with you, it's a damn cat and you go literal weeks without seeing it. the note in your pocket has even more notes on it — you were in a coffee shop late at night when this melody just popped into your head so you grabbed a napkin, scrawled a staff on it, bada-bing bada-boom. you probably should have ordered something to eat because you look downright emaciated with sunken eye sockets and no make-up and you haven't showered or even run a brush through your hair in like four days

edit: also, you wear a ton of suits, but usually they're not this friggin' nice. usually they've got mismatched parts and the coat's too big and the shirt's got a hole in the elbow or whatever... it's kinda a look

Of course, you never wear suits. Your cats HATE suits. Usually, you wear a comfy bathrobe and some slippers. That way, your cats can ride in the pockets and scratch at and play with the bottom. Your cats are your life. An entourage of at least twenty is with you at all times. You have no idea how many you have in your house. They all breed with each other so much.

You shiver, everything feels wrong without your cats. It looks like they took your shopping cart too. You take it everywhere with you. That way, you can carry all your favorite things with you, and your kitties have a place to ride. Now, all you have is a crumpled note in your pocket. It's a shopping list full of things you would never buy. You don't even recognize half the things on the list. On the bottom it appears you scrawled a couple of numbers.

You still can't remember your name, but you're fairly confident people used to call you The Cat Lady. Obviously, it's not an endearing term, but you take it as a compliment. Your kitties are your life.

Along with the suit, your hair is cut into a very stylish style, and you've been freshly bathed. Your nails are immaculate, and running your tongue over your teeth they feel as though someone has polished them. This is pretty much a direct opposite of how you usually look.

SpoilerShow

Funny story, my real name is VERY close to 'Mac'.

Also I apologize for any errors. My internet is down at home and some of this was written on a phone.

Right on cue two contradictory ideas feed into your brain at once. You wince, but try to make sense of it.

everyone you know calls you "mac" which is just the first syllable of your last name. it's a pretty masculine name considering but it's hard for people to get confused once they've met you. you've got a pet cat and fuck no it didn't come with you, it's a damn cat and you go literal weeks without seeing it. the note in your pocket has even more notes on it — you were in a coffee shop late at night when this melody just popped into your head so you grabbed a napkin, scrawled a staff on it, bada-bing bada-boom. you probably should have ordered something to eat because you look downright emaciated with sunken eye sockets and no make-up and you haven't showered or even run a brush through your hair in like four days

edit: also, you wear a ton of suits, but usually they're not this friggin' nice. usually they've got mismatched parts and the coat's too big and the shirt's got a hole in the elbow or whatever... it's kinda a look

"Mac", huh? You wonder absentmindedly why everyone calls you that if it isn't technically your real name. Or, at least, your first name. Then you realize you don't really care. A name is a name. Better than nothin'.

You can't say you remember the coffee shop but the idea is there so you take out the note.

...And sure enough, there it is. Music notes scrawled on a napkin with a tiny coffee stain obscuring the final rest. Your coffee stain or someone else's? Ugh. Probably someone else's with how you feel right now. God you could really use a cup o' joe.

But there's more here. The ideas haven't finished feeding into your mind.

Of course, you never wear suits. Your cats HATES suits. Usually, you wear a comfy bathrobe and some slippers. That way, your cats can ride in the pockets and scratch at and play with the bottom. Your cats are your life. An entourage of at least twenty is with you at all times. You have no idea how many you have in your house. They all breed with each other so much.

You shiver, everything feels wrong without your cats. It looks like they took your shopping cart too. You take it everywhere with you. That way, you can carry all your favorite things with you, and your kitties have a place to ride. Now, all you have is a crumpled note in your pocket. It's a shopping list full of things you would never buy. You don't even recognize half the things on the list. On the bottom it appears you scrawled a couple of numbers.

You still can't remember your name, but you're fairly confident people used to call you The Cat Lady. Obviously, it's not an endearing term, but you take it as a compliment. Your kitties are your life.

Along with the suit, your hair is cut into a very stylish style, and you've been freshly bathed. Your nails are immaculate, and running your tongue over your teeth they feel as though someone has polished them. This is pretty much a direct opposite of how you usually look.

Frankly you would love an entourage of twenty cats but you get the feeling you only have one. He's completely useless but still... It does feel wrong without him. Very wrong. Even though he's often gone you always felt like he'd come back soon after. And he did. Every time. No matter how far he got.

But now? You're sure even he couldn't find you here.

So. To gather what you've come to realize: you are female. At least, you feel like you're female based on mental hints. Physically it's impossible to tell, not that it matters to you (gender, as you're well aware, doesn't have much to do with your physical appearance). You can't feel your body. It's like you're floating just slightly behind or above it.

As this new information floods into your mind, you flip over the note. Seems there's something written on the back in what you assume is your own handwriting. It's a list.

To Buy (Or obtain by other means):


1) Triazolam, alprazolam or temazepam

2) Titanium dioxide

3) Nitrocellulose

4) Codeine

5) Paper towel (extra absorbent)

6) 10 batteries, AAA

7) Jumper cables.

8) A bag of jolly ranchers or life savers (whichever's available)

9) A live white rat.

10) A pair of gardening gloves.

....Okay, you'll admit that besides maybe the paper towels, none of these are things you'd normally buy and you're not sure you even know what most of the things in the beginning even are. Besides that, what would you need a live rat for?

And candy? Jolly ranchers? Those can't be for yourself, considering that you hate candy with all your heart. Not for health reasons, you're pretty far from what someone may call a 'health nut'. You just hate it. Besides, what would They ever need candy for? You wouldn't expect them to have a sweet tooth.

At any rate, this is how it is. You're tired and probably look it, but still freshly-groomed with a new, sharp haircut and polished nails. Kind of odd but given the circumstances, you're just going to go with it.

The stars are really beginning to piss you off. Brighter than bright, and louder than loud. Of course, the moon sits in complete silence as she usually does amid the other less-than-humble patrons of the sky. You have no issues with this. A quiet moon is a good moon.

You stick your hands in your pockets. The insides are lined with silk. It feels soft against your skin.

Well. This was a dud, you find yourself thinking.

You're about to give up and walk away when you hear a faint buzzing in the distance. It's different from the stars, more....mechanical? It sounds like somebody's phone.

You hesitate, then decide you've got nothing to lose. You head in the direction of the buzzing, brushing past heavy stalks of corn. Your feet feel detached from your body and your hands seem far, far away. It's like a dream.

After about twenty steps to the east--or what you imagine is probably east, you find it. Lying on the dirt in a plastic bag with the words 'for M' written in sharpie below the seal.

... Huh.


NEXT

i have no idea what to suggest so i'll just list stuff that could possibly be in the bag?

• a box of cigarettes, opened, one missing.
  
• a small container, tightly sealed, labeled "DRY ICE — DO NOT OPEN"
  
• razor blade
  
• magic eight ball
  
• a flip phone and a pager
  
• small notebook w/ golf pencil in the rings
  
• loose sunflower seeds
  
• $10,000 in hundred-dollar bills
  
• alien technology with obscure function and no operating manual, naturally
  
• dog shit
  
• a balaclava, driving gloves, a 9mm, a spare clip, and a hastily-scrawled map
  
• spices
  
• unopened deck of cards
  
• device that beeps faster as you get closer to its receiver
  
• TO SERVE MAN
  
• ukelele
  

edit: and didn't ET love candy?

edit 2: wait is this mac and me

edit 3: wait i misread, there's a thing inside the bag already and that's what's labelled "for m". i guess there's really no suggestion to make then, huh? go ahead and open it. next update. ==>

SpoilerShow

I had NOT heard of mac and me. I now have a whole new plethora of puns that can be used with my name. Also sorry, super tiny update to give more options suggestion-wise. I meant the bag itself was labeled 'for m' but yeah, not a very open update. My bad.

i have no idea what to suggest so i'll just list stuff that could possibly be in the bag?

• a box of cigarettes, opened, one missing.
  
• a small container, tightly sealed, labeled "DRY ICE — DO NOT OPEN"
  [X] razor blade
  
• magic eight ball
  [X] a flip phone and a pager
  [X] small notebook w/ golf pencil in the rings
  
• loose sunflower seeds
  
• $10,000 in hundred-dollar bills
  [X] alien technology with obscure function and no operating manual, naturally
  
• dog shit
  
• a balaclava, driving gloves, a 9mm, a spare clip, and a hastily-scrawled map
  
• spices
  
• unopened deck of cards
  
• device that beeps faster as you get closer to its receiver
  
• TO SERVE MAN
  [X] ukelele
  

Inside the bag is a small, buzzing flip-phone. But when you reach down you realize the bag was partially burried. There's a lot more here than just a phone. You can see a pager, a razor blade, a blank notebook with golf pencils and... a thing you can't describe very well. Like a small, round watch with strange symbols instead of numbers. The hands are ticking, but backwards. The whole thing is a deep ebony black with silver markings on the strap. You have no idea what it could be used for.
Also in the package is a soprano ukulele painted bright red. Okay. Well. You're just gonna roll with it for now.

You open the bag, taking out the phone. At least you understand how that works. It stops buzzing the second you pick it up. It feels warm, like it's been on all night.

You flip it open and check the call history.

25 Missed calls from Private Number

The thought 'phone home' momentarily runs through your mind and you honestly consider it for a second before realizing you don't know where 'home' even is. It's like you stepped into a haze. You don't remember much of anything besides the need to meet Them here at this date, and the time stamp in your brain.

Instead, you notice you have some text messages here as well. Huh, well good to know you could text if you wanted to, you really hate having to talk on the phone.

3:08am, Aug 14

TextLogShow

???: did you buy the candy?

Er. Must've been some urgent candy if they then called 25 times in a row. Should you...text them back? The pager doesn't seem to have gone off at all. It looks more like a back-up for if the cellphone dies. You guess.

text them back "i ate it all"

Text them back and suggest some healthier alternatives.

Text them back and suggest some healthier alternatives.

such as a live white rat, or 10 triple-a batteries